


Assault to Abjury

by havisham



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Character Death, Foreshadowing Like A Bag of Hammers, Gen, M/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2040243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros defied his father only once, but that single instance unleashed profound changes in both his life and that of his family and followers. Can Maedhros survive in this strange new world -- and is he better off for it? </p><p>[Now complete.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another prompt from [Ye Olde List of Fingon/Maedhros Ideas ](http://moetushie.livejournal.com/679596.html) gets it's day in the sun! This is a WIP with three planned chapters. I will try to update when I can.

Maitimo awoke to someone shaking him and calling his name. It was Makalaurë, looking faintly sick in the faint blue light of the lampstone. “Maitimo,” he said, “please get up. Atar says that we must sail in earnest before the rest of the company is awake.” 

Warning bells rang in Maitimo’s head. He was up before he was quite ready, and, instantly, he was hit by a moment of utter confusion. Makalaurë steadied him for a moment, and Maitimo looked back at his brother. “We are leaving our cousins behind?” 

“There is not enough room for them all,” Makalaurë said, with a trace of impatience in his voice. “His mind is made up; you will not sway him.” 

“Let me try, at least.” 

Fëanáro was in the captain’s quarters, pouring over what maps they had of the coastline of Middle-Earth. None of them were especially detailed, and all were absurdly out of date. His eyes flickered over to Maitimo and Makalaurë, huddling around the entrance of the room. “You are late, the both of you. We should have set sail an hour ago.” 

Both of them spoke at once. 

Maitimo said, “Atar, you cannot mean to sail without our uncle-” 

Makalaurë said, “Atar, I told him that we would come back-” 

Fëanáro rose from his seat and looked Maitimo over with a critical eye. Maitimo was conscious of the sight he made. He had not been able to change since the battle in Aqualondë, save to wipe his face and hands clean of blood. Fëanáro, on the other hand, looked every inch the king of the Noldor. It was all that Maitimo could do not to cast his eyes downward in shame. 

“We are leaving, Nelyafinwë. As your brother says, we will return for the rest later. If your questions are answered, we will begin. No more delays.” 

“At least...At least take one of his children, or Angrod and Aegnor. I know my brothers are fond of them. As a gesture of our goodwill, and a promise to return.” 

Fëanáro pinned him with a sharp look, and Maitimo felt as if he were twenty again, struggling to find the right answers to his sums. “I am their king. I have no reason to earn their goodwill, as you call it. They have sworn their loyalty to me, Maitimo, as have you.” 

“I meant no disrespect…” 

“The matter is closed.” Fëanáro gestured to a man behind them to call to sail. But Maitimo was not finished yet. 

“If you will not have any of them here, send me to them instead.” 

Next to him, Makalaurë pressed a hand on his temple and grimaced. Fëanáro’s face was a cool mask, and Maitimo had a feeling of sudden dizziness, as if he were standing on a precipice, ready to fall. He expected Fëanáro to deny him once again, and, if he did, Maitimo would go and speak no more about it. 

Instead, Fëanáro said, very quietly, “Is this what you choose, my son?” 

“Atar,” Maitimo said, “I would do nothing to shame you. Please believe me.” 

But Fëanáro only shook his head, frowning. “Very well,” he said heavily, “but remember what you have sworn.” 

Maitimo felt a rush of relief, which quickly curdled in his stomach into a sort of cold fear. He quashed it as much as he could and thanked his father, who was no longer looking at him. He was dismissed with a wave, and Makalaurë led him out. 

“You are taking a terrible gamble,” his brother hissed in his ear. And then, “Why are you leaving me with them?” 

Maitimo raised a brow. “It is as Amil always said: discomfort is the first step towards change.” 

“She never said that, Maitimo! Be careful. They are...They are not like us.” 

“Findekáno is not ill company, at least.” It was the first time in a long time that Maitimo had had the luxury to think of Findekáno at all. 

Makalaurë rolled his eyes. 

Maitimo was given a bag of supplies and a boat. His brothers (of those who could be found; some were belowdecks, and the rest on the other ships) saw him off. Makalaurë sang softly as Maitimo and his boat was lowered into the water. A sudden fog rolled over the water and soon the lights from the ship were muffled and then extinguished, but Makalaurë’s song stayed with him as the current took hold of the boat and moved it inexorably towards the shore. 

His reception on shore was a cool one, attended only by some minor lords who had only happened to be there when he landed, as well as Turukáno, who was there for similar reasons. He greeted Maitimo coolly, but not, as Maitimo expected, frostily. A group of people came upon them as they were talking; among them was Findekáno, whose color was high. He pushed past the crowd to come to where Maitimo stood. 

“It is a relief to see you. When we woke to see the ships had gone...” Findekáno paused, and took Maitimo’s hand. He smiled warmly at him and Maitimo looked down and examined his boots. 

“They will be back,” he said, not looking at Findekáno directly. 

“Come, we have breakfast waiting,” said Turukáno impatiently. 

 

The meal was not as painful as it might have been. 

True, the children of Arafinwë stared daggers at him the whole time. The food would have been rather lacking, even if the company was better, but Maitimo, unlike some of his brothers, knew better than to complain. He kept an eye on his uncle, who took his reappearance with a faint air of impatience, as if Maitimo had indeed been expected. 

Fëanáro’s sudden departure had left everyone with anxieties that had time to run amuk. Many times after the meal, Maitimo, who went out of the large and smoky tent to pace outside, was interrupted by some lord or other, demanding to know what the matter was. Patiently, he told them what he knew, but none would accept it.

One of them asked, “Does Fëanáro forget that he is the king of all the Noldor, and not just some?”

“Or perhaps he wishes us to have another king,” said another, with a covert glance at the direction of Nolofinwë’s tent.

Maitimo merely shrugged. “Perhaps what you speak of is treason.” 

He smiled when he saw the lords’ faces go grey. They seemed to melt into the darkness without a backward glance. He heard a soft chuckle behind him, and felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. 

“That was more blunt than they were expecting,” Findekáno said, with faint approval. 

“I am not in the mood to coddle them today,” Maitimo said evenly. 

“No, the time for coddling has definitely passed. You have eaten, then?” 

“Yes. I did not know you were there.” Nor had he seen Turukáno or Nolofinwë. 

“No, I have been in a meeting with my father and brother. I am to take you to them shortly.” 

Maitimo swallowed a sigh. He had never felt this weary in his life. Indeed, he had never known what it was to feel weary, but now he wondered if he was not treading so far from the absolute brink as his grandmother had done. He felt Findekáno’s shoulder bump against his and turned slightly.

There was a not-unfriendly look on Findekáno’s face. “You don’t have to look so grim,” he said, “I do not think they plan to roast you over a fire.” 

“No,” Maitimo said softly, and then, his voice stronger, “I expect not.” 

Nolofinwë and Turukáno, and, to Maitimo’s momentary surprise, Findaráto too, had wanted one thing, and that was assurances of Fëanáro’s return, which Maitimo, wary of speaking for his father, hesitantly gave.Then the talk went on to different topics, starting from a way to divide their various groups onto the ships, when at last Findaráto spoke. 

“My followers and I will not set foot on those ships.” 

The conversation stopped dead, and everyone looked down, or to Maitimo. Maitimo looked at Findaráto, who looked back at him calmly. Findaráto, Maitimo thought, had grown up since the last he had seen him. Findaráto, always a charming, smiling boy, looked nothing like that now. His face was set and frowning; he looked very much like Finwë had when he came to the decision from which he would never move. 

“How do you plan to get there, then?” Maitimo said, finally. “Assuming now that it is truly too late to turn back.” 

Findaráto did not flinch at the dig. “I will find a way.”

Maitimo was saved from having to reply by a shout outside, and a runner bursting through the tentflap. The boy made his way directly to Nolofinwë and knelt (collapsed, really) in front him. “My lords," he said, between large gulps of air, “the scouts had seen something on the horizon. They said that you should know.” 

Everyone began to talk at once. Could this be the Valar, changing their minds? Could Arafinwë have somehow convinced the rest of the Noldor to return? Maitimo shook his head, but before he could rise and follow the rest outside, he was stopped by Findaráto, pulling at his arm.

“Have care, cousin,” Findaráto said, a sad look in his eyes. 

“What do you know?” Maitimo said. “What can you tell me?” 

“Only that you, too, will never set foot on those ships.” 

*

There was an orange line across the dark horizon, so faint that Maitimo could almost believe he only imagined it. Except the others had seen it too, and a great cry went out, almost immediately. “Fëanáro has burned the ships! We are betrayed!” 

There were now shouts, screams, everywhere, and Maitimo felt his blood rise. It was like Aqualondë again, but he had to keep his head this time, he was not armed, this time...

 

Someone grabbed his arm and he began to struggle away before he saw that it was Turukáno. They exchanged a look, short and fraught, before Turukáno shouted into the crowd, “People! Calm yourselves! Here among us is Fëanáro’s heir. Why would he burn the ships?” 

“Fool!” someone cried out. “So Fëanáro has six heirs now. What does it matter to us?” 

“It matters,” Maitimo began, and was almost drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Listen to me! I am as stranded as you are. Listen to...” he looked around the crowd and saw Nolofinwë coming toward him. Nolofinwë pushed Maitimo forward, towards a slight rise of the ground. 

“What would you do if you were in my position?” Nolofinwë said in a quiet voice in Maitimo’s ear. 

“I cannot say, my king,” Maitimo said. 

Nolofinwë smiled. “Flatterer.” 

Then he turned to the crowd, his face grave, waiting for them to quiet. One by one, all eyes were on Nolofinwë. “My friends,” he said quietly, “if we have but half the heart I believe we do, we will see this through…” 

Maitimo turned away for a moment, and looked to the horizon once again. He knew he should feel more than he did; perhaps the shock needed more time to settle. The wind picked up, cold and harsh, and the smell of smoke came with it.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the end of the resting period: Maitimo knew it because he had been awake for all it. He sat with his back to the wind, facing Findekáno, who still slept, his resting expression almost angry. Their cloaks made for a provisional sort of tent. It did nothing to keep the cold out, and offered little in the way of privacy. What little extra blankets and furs there were had been allocated to families, those with children. 

Finally, Findekáno stirred, sleep gone in an instant. A sly smile stole over his face. "You look a _sight_.” 

Maitimo snorted. "And you look so much better?"

"But I was not once a great beauty of Tirion," Findekáno said airily, "it hardly matters to me if my hair is a bird’s nest or my nose is red, or my face is as pale as a leek."

"As if I didn't know how vain you are about your hair. You must think me a fool."

Findekáno grinned and leaned forward. "Warm enough now?"

"Hardly," Maitimo said, his teeth chattering. "I don't think it's working."

"I think it is. I feel warmer already. Indignation is almost as rousing as an open fire."

"You are a fantasist of the first order."

"Maybe," Findekáno said, his lips brushing against Maitimo's own as he rose, taking his cloak with him. Maitimo followed him and looked up. Dense clouds hid the light of the stars. The ice before them glimmered slightly, dim reflections of ice blotted out here and there with black lumps of huddling Elves. 

Turning away from the grim landscape, Findekáno asked, "Are you in the front or back today?"

"In the middle, with Elenwë and the children."

"Oh. You'll like that. You and she can discuss the books you aren't reading and the letters you aren't writing. And make sure none of the little darlings fall through the cracks before wading into a deep discussion of the philosophy of Elven nature." 

"If someone would let others run point, perhaps I could be in the front today."

“And risk you sighting Endórë before me? Never.” 

“Greedy, greedy.” 

 

*  
The wind threatened to snatch the cloak from Elenwë’s head, but she tugged it down and kept trudging ahead. Maitimo walked beside her, not speaking over-much. In truth, before going into exile, he had had only a slight acquaintance with Elenwë. They had had some friends in common -- writers and artists for the most part, but the schism within the Noldor soon saw that the split between Fëanáro's people and Nolofinwë’s was complete. And though Elenwë was of the Vanya, she had followed Indis' leadership and cleaved to the Noldor. For her, like for him, there was no turning back. 

"What do you think of this weather?" Elenwë said suddenly. Maitimo glanced up, expecting to see some change in the drab grey sky, the color of slate covered in chalk dust. But the clouds that he had seen earlier drew closer and hugged the horizon. 

"Lovely, but lacks something. More ice, perhaps?" Maitimo said, sneaking a cautious look at Elenwë. She gave him a wry look. 

"Yes, we might run out -- oh, Mussellë, don't go out so far!" 

Maitimo's head whipped toward the direction that Elenwë pointed and saw Mussellë, Calado’s daughter, had strayed from the crowd. She did not turn her head or give any other indication that she had heard them. People did that, more and more. Ice-distraction, the healers called it, the way some minds became absorbed with the austere beauty of the Ice, captivated by it, and never minding where they stepped. 

"Hold on," Maitimo said sharply, despite Elenwë's alarmed look.

"Maitimo, don't do that, we must send out a rope,” she said, but he had approached the area where Mussellë was standing, but still he felt the ice shift under his weight. "Mussellë!" he whispered, but the little girl did not turn around. 

"Mussellë!" It was then he heard it, the unmistakable crack of breaking ice. 

Mussellë turned her head and said, uncertainly, "Amil?" 

Maitimo launched himself to where Mussellë stood, and together they slipped and slid away to safety. The spot they had just stood crumbled into nothing. For a long moment, Maitimo lay still, wondering if the ice would give away if he stood. Mussellë was sobbing in into his chest, crying for her mother. Mussellë's mother, Osellë, had been one of the first to die on the Ice. 

Maitimo put a cautious hand on Mussellë's head. "It's all right," he said, "it's all right." He wasn't sure which of them he was trying to comfort. 

* 

Later, he heard, rather than saw, Findekáno coming down on him like a thunderclap. "What do you think you're doing!" Findekáno was shouting, his color high. There were people about, looking at them with curious eyes, but Findekáno did not seem to care. 

He shoved Maitimo in the chest and Maitimo grit his teeth and looked on, trying to move past him. But Findekáno would not be ignored. He pushed against Maitimo, harder this time. 

"You could have died! We have rules for this sort of thing and you didn't follow any of them! Where was the rope line? Did you even tell Elenwë what you were about to do? I cannot believe you would be so -- so careless! Stupid! What if you had died, what would I --" 

Here, Findekáno seemed to run out of steam. Maitimo wrapped his arms around Findekáno, not caring who saw and what they thought. Findekáno was shaking. 

"Shh, Finno. I am fine. The girl is fine. We are --" 

"All they would say in the front was that there was an accident in children's section. I ran all the way. Maitimo, I --"

"It's all right, I understand, Findekáno." 

"No, I mean, I mean I understand how my father must have felt every time I broke my arm --" 

"Once is usually enough for people, but not for you." 

"Oh, do shut up, that was ages ago and you are the one who did something stupid, this time. I -- I don't want you to die." 

"I won't die," Maitimo said, leaning down and kissing Findekáno on the forehead. He was not gifted in the ways of foresight like some of his cousins, but Maitimo had a brief vision of the future, one he knew was true. He would not die until he had a Silmaril in his hand. 

He did not tell this to Findekáno, of course. Instead, Maitimo led Findekáno firmly away, toward the space that would be their sleeping area, during the next rest-period. 

*

He still considered himself bound by the Oath.

After all, he had not sworn to Fëanáro, but Eru himself. With Manwë and Varda as his witnesses. Maitimo looked upwards, and saw that the clouds had dispersed for a while, leaving only a dark sky, lit with stars. One of the few good things about the Ice was what shone above it, Varda's stars were brighter here than they ever had been in Aman, under the light of the Trees. 

Starlight, the shifting ice, and nothing else, besides the dark shapes of the Noldor, walking on and on. Some speculated that they would have to walk forever, that the Valar, in their spite, would not allow them to reach Middle-earth. But Maitimo knew that it was only a matter of time before they reached the other shore, before he met with his father again, with his brothers. 

What could he say to them? How could he defend himself? When he had seen the ships burn, he had not felt much rage or bitterness, but rather a complete sense of shame. It was as if he had abandoned his brothers, rather than the other way around. He had spent his whole life caring for them, one way or the other. Now, they had only Fëanáro to lead them. 

Maitimo loved his father, and would have done anything for him, _had_ done unforgivable things for him -- however, both he and Fëanáro knew that Maitimo always held something back from Fëanáro, from Fëanáro's cause. His sacrifice had never been total. 

Fëanáro blamed this on Findekáno, and had once made half-serious threats about forbidding Maitimo from seeing his cousin. (This was very long ago, when Fëanáro could still make jokes about the other side of the family.) 

Maitimo would not accept it, would not concede to it, even in jest. Findekáno was as important to him as his brothers, albeit in a different way. 

(It turned out, however, that Fëanáro did not need to tear Maitimo and Findekáno apart -- the two of them did a fine job of it themselves.) 

Maitimo looked intently at Findekáno trying as hard as he could to see some answer in his lover’s sleeping face. But none came. Instead, he was startled from his contemplation by a cough, a foot or so above his head. Maitimo looked up to see Nolofinwë and Írissëlooking down at him. 

“Hello, Maitimo. Can’t you sleep?” 

“I’m not very tired, Uncle,” Maitimo said, rising. He was not so much taller than Nolofinwë, but he was taller, and at first, he had been careful not to loom over him too much. But Nolofinwë seemed not to notice, and Maitimo had stopped doing it. Írissë, who did not speak to Maitimo overmuch, took Maitimo’s place next to Findekáno. 

Nolofinwë and Maitimo walked together almost companionably, trading idle gossip about this and that, how Corintur had been surprised by a fish that had leaped from one of the cracks in the ice, almost to his arms, and how Lady Yellë had trained her prize hounds into pulling her along on an improvised sled. 

Maitimo had heard that Lady Yellë, being a shrewd businesswoman, had offered her sled to the highest bidder. And now, the dogs carried the bulk of Findaráto’s fortune, which was easily more than twice as much as anyone else’s, including Nolofinwë’s. But of this, he said nothing. If Nolofinwë knew, that was good. If he did not, then it was hardly Maitimo’s business to tell him. 

Nolofinwë was apparently not thinking of Lady Yellë's dogs. He said, quite thoughtfully, "What kind of welcome will your father devise for us on Middle-earth?" He looked earnestly at Maitimo. "Perhaps, in the fullness of time, he will regret his over-hasty actions?"

Maitimo said, neutrally, "You have known him longer than I, my lord." 

"Indeed," Nolofinwë said with a twisted smile that was impossibly familiar. "Though surely a beloved son knows more about his father than a hated brother knows of his brother." 

"I have some reason to suspect that my father's affection towards me has dried up." 

"As you say. What I really want to know, Maitimo, is that if we and your father and your brothers -- if it should come to the worst, will I be able to count on you?" 

Now that was the question Maitimo had been turning in his own mind. “I hope you know me well enough by now to know that I would not forsake my friends,” he began to say, but Nolofinwë waved him away. 

“Indeed, they call you Maitimo the Faithful.” 

Maitimo did not know if he quite hid the flinch that hearing that epithet gave him, but Nolofinwë’s eyes were sharp. There was a faint smile, playing on his lips that deepened into wide grin. 

“The name displeases you, Maitimo?” 

Maitimo coughed, but said nothing. He needed time to think. "Perhaps it is a little immature. I am still bound to the Oath." 

"Ah." Nolofinwë looked thoughtful. "You believe that the Oath may lead you to take actions against your friends?" 

"There is always the possibility. However, I hope that it should never come to that." 

"No," Nolofinwë said. "And, one should consider the fact that the number of claimants far outstrip the number of Silmarils. Do you think there will be any conflicts there?" 

"I hardly think so," Maitimo said, trying to keep his surprise and irritation from his face. He had never considered the notion of fighting his own brothers for a Silmaril. The notion itself was repugnant to him. But his feelings must have shown, for Nolofinwë gave him a sad shake of his head. 

"Perhaps such a thought should be unthinkable, a brother betraying a brother. However..." He let the sentence go unfinished. The stark landscape of ice and snow was eloquent enough to make his point. 

Maitimo said, firmly, "I am my own man. If you would like, I am prepared to swear an oath to you of my loyalty." 

"Hush, you young fool!" Nolofinwë looked angry at last. "Do you still not know the harm of rash oaths?" 

Maitimo looked down, to hide a smile. He knew he oughtn't smile at all, but it felt satisfying to crack Nolofinwë's seemingly impenetrable calm. 

Nolofinwë sensed his amusement and sniffed. Then, he said, suddenly, "Those who march forward now. They will not follow Fëanáro. Nor any who has not suffered as we have suffered. I doubt very much that the people of the Noldor will ever be reunited. But --" Here, he gave Maitimo a shrewd glance. "If there are those who will cleave to you, I will let them." 

"Very good of you," Maitimo murmured. He thought of those who had followed him from Tirion to Formenos and through Alqualondë. Whom did they follow now? Makalaurë always had his head in the clouds. Tyelkormo was too wild. Curufin followed too closely the example of his father, and the twins were too young still. 

That left Carnistir, and an avenue of thought that Maitimo would have preferred not to go down. 

"I think," Nolofinwë said thoughtfully, "these little chats we have are very beneficial." 

"We might be able to iron out the whole Noldorin power structure in Middle-earth before we set foot there." 

"Oh, my dear, I forget sometimes that you are still quite young --" 

Maitimo, indignant, was about to protest -- 

"There are far too many unknown variables -- and known unknowns -- for any scheme we devise to work." 

"Yes, all right," Maitimo said, with a sigh. "But it feels useful, doesn't it?" 

"Think warm thoughts, Russandol," Nolofinwë said, clapping him in the back, and walking out into the dark. 

* 

Elenwë was muttering under her breath. Maitimo strained to hear what she was saying, and was a little surprised to learn that it was math formulas. At his look, Elenwë smiled wanly at him. “That is how we met, you know, my husband and I.” 

“Oh?” 

“We reached for the same book at the library. I didn’t know who he was, and spoke to him quite tartly. I don’t think he was used to it.” 

She laughed and Maitimo laughed with her. He could quite easily believe that -- Turukáno was such a serious-minded person, he thought it unlikely that he would be used to it. 

“But it was good for him, wasn’t it? In the end?” 

“Oh, yes. He shares very nicely now. I’m glad I married him.” 

Maitimo smiled. He had no idea why Elenwë had decided to share these reminiscences with him -- relations between them had been quite cool after the incident with Mussellë, but eventually, the cold and the loneliness seemed to win out. 

“I feel as if we --” Elenwë said, and then shrugged. “As if we have something in common, as odd as it seems. There are no others of the Vanyar here you know. I mean, there some who share our blood, like Laurefindil, but no one like me." 

"I am not of the Vanyar," Maitimo ventured. 

"No, of course not! Imagine you in Valmar!" Elenwë began to laugh. "How you would stick out! That is not what I mean, of course. You and I are both outsiders, I mean. Do you not think so?" 

"I --" Maitimo sighed. "I feel ungrateful, but yes. I am an outsider." 

"It isn't that they don't love you," Elenwë said. 

"But that you are different, and even your suffering is different." 

"So, you see what I meant," Elenwë said. 

"Yes, I know what you mean."

* 

There was a scream that seemed to last forever, reaching out into the darkness. Findekáno was shaking beside him, straining every last nerve to get out of Maitimo's grasp. He looked at Maitimo, his eyes wild. "Let me go. Let me go, Russandol. I can save them."

"Finno, no, you can't," Maitimo said, looking forward to the patch of open water, where, only a few minutes before, had walked Turukáno and Idril. There was a rope line, and a line of people approaching the hole in the ice. But a shout went up, and Maitimo swore when he saw a fair colored head -- free of its hat -- dart past the the rope line and dive into the water. 

"Elenwë," he cried and let Findekáno go. They matched each other's step, getting to the hole. Maitimo had wit enough to grab the rope. Findekáno was shouting for him to stand back when Idril burst up through the water, followed closely by Elenwë. They had only a few moments to snatch them from the water and move back, as the ice began to fall again, chunks of it, larger than Idril, slamming against the ice all around them. Running, falling, half-rolling away, until last they were away. 

Idril, in Maitimo's arms, began to sob, so quietly that he could hardly hear her. Someone -- he thought it might be Írissë, took her away from him and enveloped her in blankets. Someone else tried to do the same for him. But he pushed them away. "She went into the water, help her!" 

Elenwë and Findekáno's clothes were frozen together. The blankets went around them both. 

"We must go back for Turukáno," Elenwë said, hopelessly. "I couldn't find him. He must still be there." 

Nolofinwë came forward and enveloped both Elenwë and Findekáno in his arms. He said no comforting things -- there could be no comfort, not just yet. 

*

The march went faster after Turukáno’s death. It seemed as if a flame had been lit under them, and every step they took, the closer Middle-earth came. Maitimo stayed in the front of the line, scouting ahead either with Findekáno, or without him.

Findekáno saw it first, and cried out, his hand half to the hilt of his sword. Maitimo looked up and saw a bright disc of light in the sky, silver-colored, like Telperion come again. He could hear the shouts of the others, seeing it. Light, after so long in the darkness! Light, brighter than the stars! 

Findekáno began to laugh and Maitimo laughed with him. They ran together, towards the light. 

*

Later, the disc of light disappeared again. 

"Never mind," Findekáno said. "Surely it will come again." 

“You speak from experience, do you?” 

“It would be too cruel -- oh, never mind. Nothing is too cruel now. Let’s talk about something else.” 

“What would you like to talk about?” 

 

Findekáno looked at Maitimo, his expression considering. "I have hear some gossip that has been making the rounds. About you. Do you want to hear it?" 

"No," Maitimo said, avoiding Findekáno's eye. 

"I will tell you anyway. They say that you seek to revive the customs of Cuiviénen."

Maitimo gave him a startled look. "Oh? Which ones? I think your father would decline some of the more strenuous gestures of fealty." 

"You know which ones I mean," Findekáno said shortly. 

"The Valar, in their wisdom, put a stop to that particular custom, of marrying widows. Besides, she would say no."

"You haven't asked her?"

"Findekáno, I am not so hungry for supporters that I would -- I wouldn't." 

After a long pause, Findekáno nodded. "I know." 

"So now we can talk of things that matter," Maitimo said. "What are you going to do once you are on the other shore?" 

"You may well ask," Findekáno said breezily. "I have my ambitions, the same as anyone. Artanis and I have been arguing -- discussing -- about how we will achieve our goal of finding new lands and new people."

"You didn't make a wager, did you?"

"What! Of course not, that's preposterous --" Findekáno coughed. "Anyway, I know I'll win." 

* 

 

They landed on Middle-earth with flowers blooming underneath their feet. Like any who had walked too long, they were reluctant to stop, and marched to the very gates of Angband, where Nolofinwë smote the gates. There did not seem to be anyone in. 

As they march away, Maitimo spared a glance upward, to the peaks of Thangorodrim, and felt some strange feeling of recognition that he could not quite articulate. 

They marched on. 

*

It was on the shores of Lake Mithrim that they finally halted. The Sindarin Elves that they had encountered in their short time on these shores told them very readily where the rest of the Noldor could be found, though other news was scarce. Maitimo looked across the lake, to the smoke of the other settlement and thought to himself that he might approach his brothers before the others did, and see how things would be between them. 

He told no one his plan, nonetheless, when he made his way -- as inconspicuously as he could -- but of course, Elenwë spotted him almost as soon as he was able to make a break for the woods. 

“I hope you will come back?” She looked doubtful, holding a basket of clothes in her hand. They had not truly spoken since Turukáno’s death, not even to dispel the rumors that had followed. She was quieter now than she had been before, but Maitimo thought, with regret, that he had not known her in Aman, nor she him. Neither were at their best now. 

“Yes, I will,” Maitimo said, and tried to smile. “I hope there is no doubt about it now.” 

“No,” Elenwë said, lifting a corner of her mouth. “No one can doubt you know. Though Findekáno will surely follow you too.” 

“I will be back before he knows anything about it.” 

Elenwë smiled, but did not bother to contradict him. 

She was right, in any case. Findekáno joined him before Maitimo had even left the woods surrounding the camp. He had climbed a tree in the meantime, and looked a little impatient, as he had been waiting for Maitimo for some time. 

Maitimo stopped and waited for him to climb down. “I am not running away from you, you know,” he said, with only a hint of reproach. 

“Who said you were? Can’t I miss my beloved cousins as well?” 

“It would be a surprise for them, certainly.” 

“Yes. Father is powerfully curious about how this will shape up, you know. He wanted to send a large group of warriors with us, but I convinced him otherwise. You and I will be enough protection for ourselves, will we not?” 

“I thought I was being rather subtle, going out by myself.” 

“Oh, love. Just look at you -- you are simply not built for subtlety.” 

“Hurtful brat.” 

“I’m only telling the truth,” Findekáno said with a laugh. 

They walked companionably for some time, until the thunderous sound of horses stopped them short. In a few moments before they were surrounded by mounted horsemen, all of whom wore the star of Feanaro on their arms. 

A large dog bound toward them -- Huan -- and nearly knocked Maitimo over in his greeting. 

Their leader was Tyelkormo, who seemed to be enjoying himself greatly. “Oh, see here -- two traitorous kin! What, you do not bow before me? Do you not have even a scrape of good breeding in you?” 

“Why should we bow for you, Tyelkormo?” asked Maitimo wearily, pushing Huan gently away. 

 

“Because I am the King of the Noldor,” Tyelkormo said, pointing to his head, where he was indeed, wearing a crown. “Obviously.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, Elleth!


	3. Chapter 3

And all at once, his brothers surrounded him. Not just Tyelkormo in front, but Carnistir and Curufinwë too, with Ambarto leading the rear. Tyelkormo gave a command and everyone else seemed to fade away into the dark of the woods, leaving only them, and Findekáno, behind. 

“Where is our father?” Maitimo asked, because he had to say something. “And Makalaurë? And why is there only one Ambarussa?” 

“I had heard rumors that you were among the late-comers, Maitimo,” Curufinwë mused, “certainly a redheaded giant is sure to attract attention, but I am surprised that you had not bothered to find out what has happened, yourself. How lazy of you, how dull.” 

“Much has happened since you left us,” Ambarto said somberly. “But such talk is not fit for the open air. Come home with us, Maitimo. We will tell you then.” 

“I will not go without Findekáno,” Maitimo said firmly, grabbing at Findekáno’s hand. 

“I will not return without you,” Findekáno murmured, so low that only Maitimo could hear. 

“Fine, then,” Tyelkormo said with a huff. “You have ruined my hunt so thoroughly that I will not be able to feed you. But come along and all will be revealed.” 

*

The Fëanorian settlement was far more complete and permanent looking than the sad collection of huts and tents that made up Nolofinwë’s camp. The fortifications seemed sturdy enough to withstand a serious attack, and in most places stone had replaced wood. 

There were also buildings made of stone, including what turned out to be Tyelkormo’s -- the king’s house -- which they were led to, leaving the large crowd of curious on-lookers behind. 

Many recognized Maitimo right away, and while some shouted their greetings to him, others were silent. Some turned away their faces as he passed, and with a pang, Maitimo recognized those who did it as some of his closest followers. 

Had they been punished for their loyalty to him? Or had their hearts been turned on their own? He needed to know, badly. 

They came to a private study away from the main hall, and the door was closed. For better or worse, the time to speak had come. 

*

“Father’s dead,” Carnistir said bluntly. “As is Ambarussa -- Ambarto is alone now.” 

“How did they die?” Maitimo said, leaning back on his chair. He listened quietly as Carnistir described the first battle they had had in Beleriand, of making allies with the Dark Elves who remained here. How Fëanáro had overextended himself in his wrath and was separated from the others. How he had been surrounded by Balrogs and killed by the lord of them. 

Even as he lay dying, his spirit was too much for his flesh. He made them repeat the Oath again and again before he perished, his body turning to ashes before their eyes. A spirit of fire met the fate that all flames must. 

He felt his heart ache in his chest as he said those words. He had never considered this possibility in his mind. Always, as he approached Beleriand, he thought of what he should say to Fëanáro once he saw him again. He had thought it possible that his father would refuse to see him, but Maitimo knew now that he was as stubborn and as determined as Fëanáro himself. He would see him, even if it took many years and all his powers of persuasion to do it. 

But now even that possibility was snatched away. They would never be able to reconcile, and Maitimo would never be able to have Fëanáro’s love or forgiveness ever again. 

If he could weep now, he would. But instead Maitimo sat still as a stone, as numb to sorrow as he was to the pressure of Findekáno’s hand on his. 

“Before he was utterly spent, he mentioned you, Maitimo,” said Curufinwë, a ruthless gleam in his eye. “He said that no matter where you hid, you were still bound to the Oath, as the rest of us.” 

“I know that to be true,” Maitimo said. “Then our father knew that I would come among you again.” 

“He did not reject you utterly,” Ambarto said. “In the end, he loved us still.” 

“Did… Makalaurë and Ambarussa die in this battle as well?” 

None of his brothers would look at him now. 

“Makalaurë sought to treat with our Enemy and was captured,” Tyelkormo said, looking unusually grim. “Not long after father’s death, we received an emissary from Morgoth, promising that we could lay claim to the whole of Beleriand if only we gave up our Oath to retrieve the Silmarils. Makalaurë refused to hear him, and we killed the emissary.” 

“The next one was more amiable,” said Carnistir with a grim smile. “It promised half of Beleriand and one of the Silmarils. We killed it as well.” 

“... It?” Findekáno said, confused. “What manner of creature were you speaking to that you can call them that?” 

“You must have seen them, o dull-witted cousin,” drawled Curufinwë. “A twisted shape like an Elf, a thing that can speak, though barely. Orcs, the Dark Elves call them. They were Elves once, or so the legend goes. Spirited out of Cuiviénen’s shadow and tormented so that they are no longer human. It is our duty here to kill as many of them as we can.” 

“It is a savage thing you do,” Findekáno said, with a stubborn set in his jaw. 

Curufinwë laughed at him. “You are as naive a fool as your uncle Arafinwë. I’m not surprised.” 

“We were speaking of Makalaurë,” Maitimo reminded them. 

“He accepted the last offer, which was to exchange the Silmarils with himself. The agreement was that he would come alone, and Morgoth’s deputy would too. Of course, none followed the terms, and we lost him and gained nothing.” 

“How could you allow him to do that?” Maitimo burst out, pushing back his chair and standing. “Was it not apparent that our Enemy is a liar and a cheat? How could you think that you could out-lie and out-cheat him?” 

The air turned cold around him and everyone seemed on edge. Even Findekáno, beside him, had his sword at the ready. 

All except Curufinwë, that was, who remained sitting. He sneered at Maitimo, and said, “Who are you to condemn us? You abandoned us to our fate, and now have come late to chastise us! Brother, dismiss this stranger, for a stranger he has proven to be. Cast him out!” 

“You will not dare!” shouted Ambarto, leaping up. Maitimo thought, surprised, that his littlest-but-one brother had grown somewhat since he had seen him last. He was almost as tall as Maitimo himself now.

“You defend him?” Curufinwë spat out. “He is the reason father is dead, that Umbarto is dead, that Makalaurë is as good as dead.” 

“Have you not tried to rescue him? Why?” Maitimo cried out. “You will tell me, now!” 

“We will tell you nothing,” Curufinwë said fiercely. He was no longer shouting, but from the way he looked at him, Maitimo knew that his brother would not hesitate to cut him down where he stood. They stared at each for a long moment, measuring each other’s resolve. 

Curufinwë had never made it a secret that he thought that he was Fëanáro’s true heir, however late he was born. Their father had done nothing to discourage this, instead, he used it as a goad to drive Maitimo harder, to make him a better son. 

Ultimately, Maitimo had failed in that, and all else in his father’s eyes, but it still did not make Curufinwë’s words acceptable. Try as he might, Curufinwë was not Fëanáro, and as such he did not deserve Maitimo’s deference. 

“Tyelkormo,” Maitimo said sharply, “tell me why you are in this position, and tell me know. I am willing to overlook all of your betrayal for the moment, but I will not be pushed.” 

“There is not much to tell,” Tyelkormo said, rubbing the back of his neck. He grimaced at the sun and then turned his scowl to Maitimo. “It all goes back to our father, doesn’t it? You knew he would never return to give Nolofinwë passage to Middle-earth. He could not stand such disloyalty. It follows that we we cannot as well. It was because of this disloyalty and cowardice that Ambarussa died. And why Makalaurë is where he is. Neither of them were worthy of being a son of Fëanáro.” 

“You lie! Ambarussa was no coward. And I did not kill him for disobeying our father!” Ambarto leaped out of his chair and approached Tyelkormo, an unholy light in his eye. 

Maitimo reached and restrained him, though Ambarto struggled against him. His voice rose to a wail. “I did not know where he was in the ship until it was too late. But I felt him burn, I felt him die, Maitimo!” 

Maitimo wrapped his arms around his brother and felt him shake against him. A somber silence descended over all of them, even Curufinwë, who stood still and poised. Ready for the final knife-stroke. 

“What did he say when you found out?” This question Maitimo directed at Carnistir, whose face was dull and red, as it always was when he was under a considerable amount of stress. 

“He said that it was better for traitors to burn or freeze than be among us. Let it be a warning.” 

“Ambarussa just wanted to see mother,” Ambarto said, his face still pressed against Maitimo’s chest. “He knew this was wrong, he could not shake it after Aqualondë. He didn't kill anyone, but Father killed him.” 

“Silence your tongue, you dog,” Curufinwë hissed. “I will not stand for your disloyalty. You only dare say these things because Maitimo is here.” 

“Maitimo,” Findekáno said finally. All the brothers turned to look at him. Even Maitimo had forgotten his presence there, so absorbed was he in the terrible new world before him. “The hour grows late and we must away. My father will worry.” 

“But I am staying here,” Maitimo said. 

“What? You cannot be serious,” Findekáno said. 

At the same time, Tyelkormo said, “I do not recall giving you permission to do such a thing.” 

“Give my uncle my thanks and eternal gratitude for his hospitality,” Maitimo said, bowing slightly in Findekáno’s direction. “But now I must put my own house in order.” 

“Not your house,” Tyelkormo said, pouting. 

“Shut up, Tyelko,” Carnistir said, sighing. “You were only the fourth choice. Given a vote, do you think they would chose you again?” 

“Kings are not chosen,” Tyelkormo said with a huff. “They are _made_.” 

“Then Maitimo is our king,” said Ambarto. “He has made it through the ice and terror to find us and claim us. I pledge myself to his crown. Who will do the same?” 

“I will,” said Carnistir. “Tyelkormo is only fit to lead a pack of hounds, nothing more.” 

“You traitor,” Tyelkormo said hotly. Then he looked at Maitimo squarely in the eye and grinned. “You will learn soon enough that kingship is a terrible burden. Grandfather, father and Makalaurë fell under it. I hope you do not do the same. You can have it.” 

He tossed the crown at Maitimo’s feet and it landed with a small cloud of dust. Ambarto bent down and picked it up, rubbing the golden surface with the back of his tunic. 

“I do not accept this,” Curufinwë said, his hands clenched to his sides. “You all know within your hearts that our father would not, either.” 

“So three for and one against. The ayes have it. Maitimo is our king,” Carnistir said. “You may go now, Findekáno, and tell this news to our half-uncle. He can stop this pretense at kingship as well.” 

But Findekáno was looking at Maitimo steadily. “Is this your will, Maitimo?” 

“It is -- remaining here, I meant. The subject of kingship will have to wait.” 

“Then I leave you to it,” Findekáno said, turning and leaving. 

“Wait!” Maitimo said. “Tyelkormo, tell me now. Why did you not attempt to rescue Makalaurë?” 

“We did not need to,” Tyelkormo said, clearly annoyed. “Makalaurë came back on his own. He is more of a traitor to us than even you are. He relinquished the Silmarils and foreswore the Oath. Makalaurë is no longer our brother. He is no longer one of the Noldor.” 

“That is… impossible,” Maitimo said, blankly. 

“Since you are our king now, you will need to fix all of this,” Curufinwë said conversationally. He put his hand on his cheek and smiled. “When will you start?” 

*

Maitimo followed Findekáno out to the hall, away from the rest of the household. He was determined to fix something, at least. 

But instead, Findekáno stopped walking, looked at him, and gave a short, bitter laugh. “I had forgotten how you are with them! You stray so quickly into the path of madness with your family, Maitimo; how can you stand it?” 

“Are you not my family too, Findekáno?” Maitimo wanted nothing more than to touch Findekáno, to kiss him if he could. But he kept his distance. He did not think his overtures would be welcome just now. 

“Not like that. Not like -- I cannot love you as you are.” 

“So you reject me?” Maitimo felt himself pale. “Your love is weak indeed if it crumbles at the first sign of trouble.” 

“You know it’s not that! It’s just like before,” Findekáno said fiercely. “When given a choice, you will always chose them.” 

“I did not chose them in Araman,” Maitimo reminded him. “Or would you that I had?” 

“Would it have made a difference now?” 

“It has made a great difference,” Maitimo said, with a sigh. “Though perhaps we cannot see all ends from where we are.” 

*

There was a strain of music that ran through the halls of Maitimo’s new home that haunted him, that would not let him sleep. He lay awake in the room that had been built for his father, then used by his brothers and finally turned over to him, and listened, his heart pounding slowly in his chest. When he was finally able to drift off, he was jolted awake by something -- someone -- gripping tightly to his chest. 

He woke to a dark shape looming over him. After a moment, a familiar, beloved face appeared, illuminated by a weak shaft of light. 

“Makalaurë,” Maitimo sighed. 

“You should not sound so relieved,” Makalaurë said. “Surely they have told you that I am a dishonorable traitor and no longer of the Noldor.” 

“Yes, they told me that.” 

“It’s all true, you know.” 

“You have renounced the Oath?” 

“I have renounced everything I could to earn my freedom, but still he does not let me go.” Makalaurë pushed back his hair and revealed a thin, iron collar around his neck. On impulse, Maitimo tugged at it. 

“It’s hell-wrought iron, you unbelievable idiot,” Makalaurë said, pushing him away. “Don’t you think I tried everything to free myself? The only thing that would free me would be if you cut off my head. Would you do that for me?” 

“... I politely decline.” 

“You would, you coward. So, why are you here and not curled up in the peerless Findekáno’s arms?” 

“The peerless Findekáno loves me no longer. I am not welcome in his arms.” 

“Hm. I do not believe it.” Makalaurë cocked his head, apparently deep in thought. “You are still treating me as a brother and not a cursed traitor. That’s a mistake, you know.” 

“Makalaurë,” Maitimo said softly, “what happened to you in Angband? How did you get away?” 

“It is a strange place, Angband. There are places in it that are quite beautiful and almost indistinguishable from Tirion that was -- though Morgoth claimed that he had bettered all of our works.” 

“He is a thief and a murderer,” Maitimo said bluntly. “He has not bettered anything.” 

“I did not agree with him,” Makalaurë said with a moue of annoyance. 

“Brother, why did you forswear the oath?” _How did you do it,_ Maitimo wanted to ask, _is it possible to do?_

“I know you would have done differently,” Makalaurë said bitterly. “Many days I spent being beaten and tortured. If that had been all, I believe I could have endured it. But Morgoth did not end there --” 

“You needn’t tell me if it’s painful to you,” Maitimo said and Makalaurë gave him a twisted smile. 

“I needn’t continue if it’s painful for _you_.” 

“No, I will hear it,” Maitimo said decidedly. He sat up and looked at Makalaurë expectantly. But while his brother obliged him and spoke of many -- most, truly hideous -- it seemed that Maitimo could not quite listen to what he said. His mind could not seem to settle on it. It was something to do with the timbre of Makalaurë’s voice, the way he said certain things… 

He heard Makalaurë chuckle slightly. “I told you that you wouldn’t listen.” 

“You’re doing it,” Maitimo said, barely able to to keep his eyes open. “Makalaurë, stop it.” 

“You should sleep rather than hear of me.” 

“Makalaurë --” 

Maitimo fought against it -- this overwhelming fatigue -- but the conversation with Makalaurë, with his burning eyes and hands that grasped at his, had drained him. When he woke, he was alone with no signs that he’d had a visitor all. As he cast about for a lamp or candle to stave off the oppressiveness of the darkened room, he heard a knock at the door. 

“Who is it?” he called out. 

“It’s me,” said Tyelkormo. “Can we talk?” 

“It must be the time for it,” Maitimo said, “Come in.” 

Tyelkormo had always been an early riser -- his hair was unbound and his face seemed oddly young-looking, cleared from worry that it had housed before. “There’s a stench in this room,” he said with a half-smile. “You have been entertaining the traitor, I see.” 

“I do not see why you reject him as you do,” Maitimo protested. “He has escaped Morgoth and for that he should be commended.” 

 

“You know nothing of it,” Tyelkormo said, moving so that he was in front of Maitimo, just out of reach. “When he arrived at our gates, we -- all of us, even Curufinwë -- wept with joy. But the Makalaurë who returned was not the one who marched away. The Grey Elves warn of those who were captured by the Enemy and then returned, and they warn rightly. Makalaurë did not escape, he was sent to us. With the first day of his return, a hundred of our best warriors were dead.” 

“Then why do you keep him?” 

“Do you wish us to be kinslayers truly? It would be different, killing Makalaurë over some stinking Teleri fisherman. And we cannot exile him, have him betray us again.” 

“I am asking why --” 

“We keep him because we cannot let him loose. When he is in his right mind -- which is most of the time -- he allows himself to be kept secure. Safe. But sometimes -- like tonight, he will sing the locks open and creep out to do mischief.” 

Maitimo felt as if he had been struck in the back of the head. 

Tyelkormo gave him a sad smile. “You begin to understand now, I think, what you have gotten yourself into. Do you long to go back to the other side of the lake and avail yourself on Nolofinwë’s hospitality once again?” 

“No need for that,” Maitimo said grimly. “I feel that we will be over there soon enough.” 

*

And Maitimo was right, as he often was on wagers of little consequences. The formal rapprochement between his camp and Nolofinwë's came long after they had settled into their new life. In truth, Maitimo was kept so busy in getting his house in order that he rarely missed his former companions on the Ice. Was this cold-hearted of him? Findekáno had been right when he said that Maitimo’ attention was easily consumed when he was with his brothers. Habits of a lifetime were difficult to break. 

But it wasn’t as if he was wholly cut off from his cousins across the water. He would often hear about their exploits and one day, when hunting, he came face-to-face with Irissë, and Findekáno’s sister.

“So I see that you have not died, despite my brother’s long face,” she said when she’d stopped him. Tyelkormo, who was naturally with Maitimo -- he could not be kept from hunting -- made a hurt noise, deep in his throat, when Irissë would not look at him, much less speak to him. 

“I have not died,” Maitimo said, offering Irissë his hand to dismount from her horse, which she promptly ignored. She descended on her own and surveyed the clearing where they had met by chance. 

“Mithrim’s too small to support two such large and hungry clans, don’t you think? Perhaps you should move on -- leave here, go far away,” she said, as delicately as a knife in the back. Maitimo laughed, surprising himself. She was very like her brother. 

“Have you permission to say so from your father?” he asked her, but she snorted and rolled her eyes. 

“Why do I need my father’s permission to speak the truth everyone knows?” She finally deigned to look at Tyelkormo. She didn’t frown at him -- if anything, she looked almost sad. “But it is true -- Father wishes to speak to you, before we can have formal negotiations. Why he thinks he will be able to reach you when nothing will, I don’t know.” 

“I would accept his offer, regardless of whatever use it might be,” Maitimo said pleasantly, but Irissë was not having it. 

“My brother, fool that he is, expected better from you. You’ve dashed all of his expectations and will find him changed.” 

“Irissë! Will you ignore me the whole time? How cruel!” Tyelkormo cried out but Irissë dismissed him with a rude gesture and was gone. 

*

When it finally came, the meeting between the two factions of the Noldor, it was agreed that both sides would meet in a neutral location -- an old hunting lodge at the edge of both their territories.

Maitimo hadn’t expected music to start suddenly when he saw Findekáno again, nor for sparks to fly. But he hadn’t quite expected this either -- a door suddenly opened and Findekáno looked out and spotted him. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, looking disgruntled. He tried to close the door, but Maitimo stuck out his boot. 

“Findekáno, I want to talk to you, I only agreed to this ridiculous meeting because of it.” 

“Ridiculous, you say? I don’t think discussing our future existence as a people is so very ridiculous, but what do I know? It seems like I don’t know you at all…” 

“You’re crushing my toes…” 

“Good! Let me close this door!” 

“Findekáno! I’m sorry.” 

Findekáno stilled for a moment, letting his grip on the doorknob grow slack. “I don’t know what you want to me to say. It’s all right, Maitimo? I knew you would go back to your brothers anyway? I mean, I did know, but I’m still angry about it.” 

“Open the door, let me see you.” 

“I won’t.” 

“You bar from seeing even your face? Cruel Findekáno!” 

“Like your brothers have barred Makalaurë from coming amongst you.” 

“You’ve heard that, have you?” 

“I couldn’t believe that of you. Maitimo, your own brother!” 

“Weren’t you criticizing me just now for being blindly devoted to my brothers?” 

Findekáno opened the door and peered out at him. His familiar, beloved face filled Maitimo with a sense of warmth that he hadn’t even realized he had missed. He reached out towards him, but Findekáno shook his head. 

“Look, I still have things to work on, I won’t lie --” 

“Thank you, I was worried about your lying.” 

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.” 

“Then I say in earnest that I wish I’d never laid eyes on you.” 

Maitimo paused a moment, letting himself absorb the blow. “Fine, then, we won’t pick up where we left off. But as allies -- we are still that, I hope? -- I want to be able to count on you.” 

“It depends on what you have to offer.” 

“Only the resolution to our current political crisis and peace among the Noldor, as well as the destruction of our enemies.” 

“How do you suggest we do that? Split Beleriand in half?” 

“Well --” 

“Honestly, I’ve no idea how you’ve got a reputation for being a strategic genius -- most of what you do and say are obvious enough, but you’re just hard-headed enough to keep going --” 

“You’ve just described yourself, you know that?” Maitimo said with a smile. He gestured towards the door on the other side of the room. Behind it, he knew, were gathered all his brothers (save one) and all his cousins and his uncle and their followers. The fate of Beleriand waited for them. “Shall we go, then?” 

“If we must,” Findekáno said with a sigh. 

Maitimo took his arm and led him away. “In any case, I’m going to tell Makalaurë that I don’t accept his renunciation of the oath. We will bring him back into our fold soon enough, you shall see.” 

“I’m not convinced that is the best for him.” 

“Of course it is,” Maitimo said blithely. “We are all family, after all. We should stay together. And besides, Makalaurë cannot exempt himself from our doom. Neither can you, Findekáno. No more than I can.” 

“What a wonderful thought!” 

“Yes. I find it oddly comforting, myself.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! You didn't think it would happen and neither did I. But here it is! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting. ♥ 
> 
> And big thanks to Elleth for beta-ing!

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from [a poem by Raymond McDaniel](http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/assault-abjury). 
> 
> Thank you to Grania, for beta-ing this.


End file.
